Page 11 of Redeeming 6
“Don’t lose the head, Joe,” Podge warned, hurrying after me.
“Yeah, lad,” Alec muttered in agreement. “There’s six of them over there.”
“Got a staring problem, assholes?”
“Ah, Jesus,” Alec groaned, clutching the back of my T-shirt. “We’re going to die.”
“Are ye deaf?” I demanded, shaking him off, my entire focus on the lads watching me. “I asked ye a fucking question!”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” one of the lads said before taking a safe step behind an even bigger lad. “You do the talking, Gibs.”
This one had a familiar look about him, with blond hair and a goofy-as-fuck smile. “Howdy, friend.”
“I’m not your friend,” I seethed, closing the space between us, hurley in hand. “And the last time I checked, the rugby club was on the other side of town,” I reminded them. “You have no business here.”
“Oh, Jesus.” The blond lad’s silvery-gray eyes lit up with what I could only describe as playful mischief when he chuckled and asked, “Are we about to have a turf war?”
I cocked a brow. “A turf war?”
“Yeah.” He nodded eagerly. “Like the T-Birds and the Scorpions in Grease.”
“Grease?” I gaped at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Don’t mind Gibsie,” another one of them said, and this one was definitely familiar. “He’s a fair bit dysfunctional.”
“How do I know you?” I demanded, eyeing him warily.
“I’m Hughie Biggs,” he was quick to offer, holding his hands up, the universal symbol of peace. “Our sisters are friends.”
“Yeah,” the big one chuckled, waving a tissue in front of him. “We come in peace.”
“Shut up, Gibs,” Hughie muttered, shaking his head. “Jesus, lad.”
Taken aback, I unfurled my fists and forced myself to simmer down. There was no threat here. I needed to get my body to register that.
“What are you doing here, Biggs?” I asked, addressing Hughie and ignoring the big ape of muscle he had standing beside him. “What do you want?”
“Looking for you, actually.”
Now, I was on alert again. “Why?”
“I sort of need a favor.”
“I don’t do favors for strangers.”
“Our sisters are friends,” he repeated, tone hopeful. “Which means we’re sort of friends, or acquaintances, maybe…no? Okay then.”
“I don’t do friends,” I said coldly, sizing up each and every one of the overgrown bastards, with their designer clothes and expensive haircuts. “And I don’t do favors.”
“Hey,” Alec huffed, folding his arms across his chest in outrage. “Thanks a fucking lot, friend. What am I? Dog shit?”
“Shut up, you dope,” Podge grumbled. “Let Lynchy handle this.”
“Fair enough,” Hughie replied with a shake of his head. “Clearly, coming here was a bad idea.”
“Clearly,” I bit out, staring him down until he looked away. “See ya.”
“What?” the big fella demanded. “No, no, it was a brilliant idea, and I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”
